


Scotia

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: As AU as they come, F/M, Myths AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: An AU based in Myths and Legends. Written for the Tumblr 2017 Secret Santa challenge.





	1. I

##  **_Scotia (I)_ **

In the beginning there was only darkness.

Then  _Scotia_  came, with her flaming hair, eyes of immortal constellations and lips of ever-blooming rose. Her iron fist was fierce, her sword worthy, her shield unbreakable. She conquered darkness and light was born for all under her just rule. People saw the fires sizzling in the meadows, all fear of dark creatures banished to the gruesome caves where shadows slept, and gathered around them. They saw each other under the balmy light, their features discernible for the first time, and when man and woman saw how their halves completed each other, so love was born from the coming of light. And when words were too many to be contained, when goodness overflowed their hearts, so  _Gàidhlig_ came to be, a language to give shape and meaning to the things light had brought.

Fearing what would happen to her people once her days had come and gone, she trapped the whispers of devils, the tears of angels, the laughter of sin, inside a stone from the womb of the Earth, untouched by  _Helius_ ’s kiss.  _An Lia Fàil_ , the stone was called – the  _Stone of Destiny._  It was placed in a grove where ancient trees watched over it, green things which had survived darkness itself, no clear path visible until the stone was needed.

 _Scotia_ ’s progeny came to the stone once a year, in the evening of  _Nos Calan Gaeaf_ , when the long days started to dwindle, when darkness regained some power and threatened to uneven the divided rule of days. The  _Stone_  claimed something to quieten the night’s threats – a kiss, a life, a harvest, a memory, a drop of blood, a firstborn – and  _Scotia_ ’s people proceeded to love, laugh and dance one more year.

But as the blood of  _Scotia_ weakened in their veins, her descendants found it harder to summon the path to the  _Stone_. One man, elderly and sick, took too long to achieve the stone, reaching it only a day after  _Nos Calan Gaeaf_. The punishment was jealously flourishing in his heart, that ended his life with a blow delivered by his own hand - after murdering his loving wife, whom he imagined to be in love with his younger brother. Every time a man or woman failed to reach  _An Lia Fàil_  in time, a perversion was created – and soon love battled anger; tenderness crushed against envy; compassion cried in the claws of greed.  _Scotia_ ’s people became imperfect, war rising on their fists, murder on their words, darkness labouring within.

Fearing what they would become, a warrior took  _Scotia_ ’s sword and the last of her legacy’s gifts and carved a dragonfly from the  _Stone_ , seeking to divide its power. A queen of frost – _Beira_  - visiting from another world found him, death riding to take him, and immediately fell in love with his blue eyes and auburn hair. Madly in love and filled with grief with the anticipation of his loss, she sealed the  _Stone_  and placed the dragonfly inside her lover’s heart, prescinding of her power in order to save him and contain darkness. Men stayed imperfect, but there was still enough good in them to counterbalance the damage already done.

For generations no one heard of  _An Lia Fàil_ , even when days seemed to became shorter again. Years passed, until history became legend, the descendants of  _Beira_  and  _Scotia_  barely aware of the significance of the dragonfly that marked their chests from birth.

That was until James awoke from his sleep, on his coronation day, the dragonfly etched on his skin _burning_.


	2. II

##  _**Scotia (II)** _

“The king-to-be is dying!” Said one healer, inspecting Jamie’s eyes.

“The king-to-be is cursed!” Affirmed one mage, two fingers diligently palpating his pulse.

“The king-to-be is tormented with flatulence!” Screeched one wise-woman, her skeleton hands almost ticklish on his belly.

“The king-to-be is  _hungry_.” Jamie hissed, offering an annoyed look at the court of professional worriers. “It probably was just a vivid dream. Will ye _please_ leave me be, so I can break my fast and carry on with my day?”

Throwing him concerned and curious looks, as if he would drop dead at any given moment – undoubtedly giving one of them the satisfaction of being right -, they obligingly marched outside his chamber, leaving him alone with Murtagh, his godfather and guardian since he had become an orphaned child. The older man raised his thick brows in inquisition and Jamie sighed and shook his head in defeat.

“It wasna a dream – of that much I’m sure.” Jamie admitted, raising from his scrambled bed to wash his face on the basin in the corner of his quarters. “The mark ached like a fiend, it was as if my chest was about to crack open – that is why I screamed.” He absentmindedly rubbed the dragonfly on his chest, drawn in silver inside his mother’s womb. “But then I saw a strong light and this soothing warmth washed over me and took the pain away.”

“Ye should go see Maisri before the oath.” Murtagh advised him, softly brushing his beard. “The elderly are gathering in the hall, waiting for the moment to sit at the Round Table. But I have a mind ye should ken the true meaning of this afore ye took  _Scotia_ ’s sword. My bones are rattling with bad omens.”

“Aye. I will.” Jamie bent his head, glancing at the iron crown of thistles, the symbol of a ruler descending from the blood of the slayer of darkness, the light’s lover,the first anointed queen,  _Scotia_. “Do ye recall if my father’s mark ever pained him?”

“If it did, he didna mention it to me.” The dark-haired man shrugged, implying that he wouldn’t be privy to every relevant occurrence in Brian’s life. “I can look into his journals in the archives and see if he detailed any such happenings with  _Beira’s mark_. Only the kelpies ken how much we’ve forgotten from the days of old.”

“I can’t quite dissipate this strange feeling, though.” Jamie said slowly, finishing to dress for the remarkable day ahead, his fingertips rapidly brushing the center of his chest. “As if the mark was –  _is_  - alive. Finally awoken from a long slumber.” He took his old dirk and firmly placed it into his belt. “I should be on my way to Maisri. Will ye come with me?”

“Best if I keep things controlled in the hall until ye arrive.” Murtagh smiled ruefully. “Besides, my presence could cast a shadow upon the Seer’s sight.”

Maisri  _Wise-Eyes_  had been the Seer for as long as anyone could remember – no one knew exactly her age or how she had guaranteed her position. In spite of being older than any man presently alive, her hair remained stubbornly black, streaked by a sole lock of pure white. Her brown eyes danced between supernatural wisdom and childish glee, always ready to see more than one would dare.

“Is that ye, James Fraser?” Her voice, transparent and truthful as a stream, echoed from the corner of her dark room, chosen to be her lair countless moons ago. “Is the crown weighing too heavily on you already?”

“Hello, Maisri.” He respectfully bent his head, acknowledging the rank that her powers – not her birth – offered her. The seer sat on a crooked chair, that someone had deemed unfit to serve as furniture - only Maisri seemed to find it entirely suitable. “I had a dream last night and I was wondering if ye could help me make sense of it.”

“Ah.” She rubbed her knuckles, smiling softly. “Only your eyes were open, and the king-to-be was awake. Ye heard  _Beira_ ’s cry, did ye not?”

“The mark burned.” Jamie admitted, siting on a simple chair close to her. “Is that what ye mean?”

“What  _I mean_  doesn’t matter, because it won’t change  _what it is_.” She scowled, pointing vaguely in the direction of his chest. “People forgot but it’s time ye  _remember_ , lad, for all our sakes.”

“What should I remember?” Jamie pressed, grabbing her hand.

“Darkness gathers, smelling our forgetfulness.” Maisri’s sad voice sent shivers down his spine, licks of a wet tongue of fear. “The silver doe with honey-eyes runs to meet the dragonfly, with tales of night in her tongue. Together, they may shape a crown for the outlander to wear. Fail to whisper into her heart and live long enough to see all rights wronged.” Her gaze seemed to regain focus, as if she had finally seen something far away, at last within her reach. “ _Nos Calan Gaeaf_ is upon us _. An Lia Fàil_ awaits _.”_


	3. III

##  _**Scotia (III)** _

_“Ride North,”_ Maisri  _Wise-Eyes_  had said, her voice filled with the clarity of prophecy. _“Until ye find the tree broken by the roar of thunder. There springs the river with no end. Follow it where it leads.”_

“This must be it.” Jamie looked around, adjusting the hood of his cloak, sheltering himself against the coming of night’s frosty kiss. “I was here two moons ago, hunting, and this tree was standing straight – it must have been stricken by lightning since then.”

“Aye.” Murtagh nodded, blowing against his palms to warm himself. “This far north the air is freezing like  _Xaphan_ ’s own toenails. Maisri better be right, or I’ll throttle the bloody seer.”

They had been riding hard for the last couple of weeks, barely giving time for man or beast to gather strength – a powerful urgency had taken over Jamie, a fever burning steadily, brought on by the knowledge of darkness lurking. His sleep was agitated, filled with dreams he couldn’t recall after the sun had risen, and the deep dark circles around his eyes spoke of the burden consuming him.

He had accepted Scotia’s crown and in his scabbard now slept her sword, its hilt engraved with runes which told the story of the birth of light. Following his strange conversation with Maisri – if her riddles and premonitions could actually be called a  _conversation_ -, Jamie had squinted through dozens of old tomes in the archives, searching for any mention of  _An Lia Fàil_. The name sounded strangely familiar, annoying in the constant sensation that he should remember it clearly – as if he had heard of it a long time ago, when his years were yet too young to recount the tale. The knowledge of the old days – specially the ones right after the end of darkness - was scattered, passed along by imperfect human tongue; very few dedicated enough of their time to committing the relevant events of their lives to written word – much had been forgotten and, undoubtedly, distorted by the rushing of years.

“Shouldn’t the keeper of the furnaces of hell preserve his toenails warm, like the rest of him?” Jamie gave his godfather a lopsided smile, amused with the ramblings of his fiercely protective mentor.

“No one cares for toenails.” Murtagh shrugged, distractedly patting the powerful flank of his horse. “But I dinna see a river with no end – no river whatsoever, for that matter.” They both looked around, as if expecting to suddenly catch sight of a mass of moving water.

“We’ll have to look in the forest around this place.” Jamie suggested, sounding resigned. “We’ll do it first thing in the morning, aye?”

“When ye find this  _An Lia Fàil_ ,” The older man said, careful to pronounce it correctly – for names held power and could summon unseen things. “What are ye supposed to do with it?”

“I dinna ken.” Jamie admitted, starting to collect branches to build a small open fire. “Maisri dinna have much to say about it. Only that the dragonfly mark is somehow linked to it.”

_The silver doe with honey-eyes runs to meet the dragonfly_. Jamie hadn’t told his guardian about that particular bit of the seer’s predictions – for some unforeseeable reason, the silver doe seemed like a private matter, something precious which would lose its power by being shared with another’s ears.

They ate with parsimony from their provisions, talking idly over the soft roar of the fire, until they were lulled by the sound of green branches crackling, so fiercely loved by the hot flames they couldn’t avoid being turned into ash.  

When Jamie opened his eyes, running away from the arms of sleep as if someone had whispered his name against his resting ear, a doe – her fur silver as a moonbeam, her eyes the color of fragrant honey – was standing over him.

He waited, motionless, as  _she_  – for there was no doubt in his mind that this creature could be anything but a  _female_ – inspected him, sniffing softly to taste his scent, not yet aware of his wakefulness. Irrationally attracted by the shimmer that seemed to irradiate from her, Jamie raised his trembling fingers and touched her neck.

She squeaked, a sound utterly  _human_ , and a mighty thunder boomed above. A cloud of mist surrounded her – coming over the clearing like a swift blow on a candle - and, within the time that took Jamie to blink his eyes, she had transformed into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“How dare you touching me, mortal?” The shapeshifter woman roared, and the skies wept with her rage.


	4. IV

##  _**Scotia (IV)** _

“Who are ye?” Jamie asked, feeling simultaneously curious and outraged by the way the woman had called him  _“mortal”_ , never having thought of his mortal condition has something inherently nefarious.

“Who are  _you_?” She replied mordantly, the trees nearby quickly becoming covered with white frost, looking like green unappetizing cakes with a glacé topping.

“Ye are addressing James,  _King of Scots_ ,  _Guardian of Light_ ,  _Bearer of the Dragonfly_.” Murtagh intervened, squinting suspiciously in the direction of the strange woman. “Are ye a devil of the woods seeking our blood to quell yer thirst, shapeshifter?”

“I have no interest in  _Scotia_ ’s offspring.” She flared her nostrils in distaste, looking remarkably like the doe she had been just seconds ago. “Nor in the blood of old folks.” Her wry smile made Murtagh flinch, his hand roaming dangerously to the hilt of his dagger.

“Are ye no mortal yerself, then?” Jamie asked, giving his guardian a swift glance, a silent warning to stay his hand.

“Not in the way that  _you_  are.” Her lips, the color of rich raspberries, moved to form an almost imperceptible smile. “You may call me Claire, although others know me as _Sorcha_.”

“ _Sorcha_  – the  _Queen of Frost_?” Surprised, Jamie tried to retrocede – for the queen who ruled over snow and rain was notorious for her temper, allegedly commanding ice shards against her enemies in battle -, and in his higgledy-piggledy behavior his back went directly against a massive oak. With a loud thump, a mass of snow precipitated over him from the twigs, nestling in his hair and seemingly turning him into an old man, hair stark white.

Spitting out lumps of ice, Jamie watched – half fascinated, half furious – as Claire laughed hysterically, a light summer drizzle falling around her, creating a cautious rainbow between the trees. It seemed that her mood was deeply connected with the environment and weather around her – Jamie prayed to the myriad of gods at his disposal for the grace of never creating a storm within her.

“I’m glad ye find it so thoroughly amusing.” He said between teeth, grimacing as the snow began to melt against the back of his neck, dripping along his skin in a steady river.

“I think the white suits you best.” Still whooping with laughter, Claire shrugged. “I don’t really fancy redheads.”

“We think it a blessing.” Murtagh tried to reprimand her, crossing his arms in contempt. “To be kissed by the fire that keeps the night restrained.”

“Not a benediction to us.” Her smile died, and the drizzle stopped abruptly. “It was your redheaded ancestor that drove  _Beira_  away from her kingdom, her family and her powers.” Claire’s amber eyes held Jamie’s gaze and he saw her sadness and her rage, as well as her resentment. “She was my aunt – when she failed to return, allured by  _that man_ , I had to ascend, and my entire existence changed.”

“Why are ye here, in our world?” Jamie tilted his head, admiring the way her hair curled in brown, black, copper, honey, strawberry and blonde, incredibly rich and alluring in its indefiniteness.

“The dragonfly has been flying inside my dreams of snow for a while. As rulers, it is our blessing and curse to see things others cannot.” The queen admitted grudgingly, adjusting her blue cloak, lined with white fur. “Dark creatures started to roam our grounds, daring to step into our sacred woods. I had to come and see for myself, how the two events are connected, if at all.”

“Aye. I think ye were meant to find me.” Jamie fought to keep away a teasing smile, sheer horror unveiling on her face. “My seer saw you – well, a silver doe just like yerself, if I may say so – rushing to meet me. Together we are supposed to locate  _An Lia Fàil_  and push darkness away again.” He hesitated, but resolutely decided to avoid any mention on how their lives seemed to fully entwine from that point onwards; and especially on how he supposedly had to become fluent in the language of her heart.

“I don’t suppose she has given you directions on how to do just that?” Claire raised a brow and a mild wind blew against his back, not as much a caress and a light shove.

“Maisri told us to find the river with no end.” Murtagh smoothed his beard. “But I dinna see a drop of water nearby, let alone a bloody river.”

“You, humans of this world, forgot things in order to shield your hearts and find joy within the limited number of your days.” Claire moved around, touching a trunk nearby. She sighed and her shoulders hunched. “But you forgot too much, too fast – for it’s not water that runs with no end from this point on.”

“What is it, then?” Jamie said softly, pained with the wish to caress the slopes of her neck, as beautiful and white as a winter’s dawn.

“ _Sorrow_.” She said, just as softly.


	5. V

##  _**Scotia (V)** _

Claire knew the language of silent things – her hand delicately touched a tree, or a stone, and they sang her their tales, stories of corruption and destruction under the ruling of darkness. She walked slowly, guided by their whispers, and Jamie and Murtagh followed obediently behind her, careful to maintain a respectful distance. Wind, rain and thunder rolled constantly, furiously, brought on by her mourning – bottomless, no matter if she grieved the loss of a singular clover or the death of hundreds of humans.

“There’s an ancient path here”. She sternly explained, gently caressing a fallen branch of a rowan tree, convoluted as a human face trapped amidst screaming, twigs like hands pleading for salvation. “The rowan won’t tell me where it leads, though. Its memories become fragmented and desperate every time I come close to the knowledge.”

“Do ye think we should be following it, then?” Jamie asked, adjusting his cloak. As they moved farther into the mysterious North, the temperature had decreased substantially, forcing him to flex his fingers constantly to prevent frostbite and numbness on his digits.

“Without a doubt.” Claire replied laconically, seeming entirely unfazed by the roaring wind. “There is a warning here, to be sure, but this is where we were meant to be,  _Dragonfly Bearer_.”

“Night is already gathering.” Murtagh noticed, his teeth slightly chattering, his grave face barely visible between the furs lining his hood. “There should be another couple of hours of sunlight, at least. Something wicked sleeps in these woods, something even light seems eager to forsake.”

“We should make camp for the night.” She said in a flat tone, blatantly ignoring the old man’s remarks, even if her eyes cautiously inspected the area around them. “Before you two fall dead in the middle of the path.”

The peculiar group promptly made arrangements, igniting a soothing fire and establishing strategic positions – the frost queen choosing to position herself prominently away from her human companions. Jamie threw several fortuitous glances in Claire’s direction, noticing how she didn’t move to take food or water, simply siting on a blanket of snow that seemed like an extension of her – he wondered if she would turn into a doe and ran through the night, seeking the replenishment of young leaves and sweet berries. He and his guardian traded hushed words and quiet concerns, before silently committing to find their respective dreams for the night.

Unable to reach the welcoming arms of sleep, Jamie trashed and turned, until he eventually decided to give up and seek the ember’s advice by the fire. He could see Claire’s outline, her open eyes sheltering fires of their own, light tirelessly dancing on her fair skin.

“Do ye no sleep, then?” Jamie said in a low voice, reluctantly sitting across her, mindful not do disturb her. She briefly glanced at him and then her eyes stubbornly returned to the secret of flames, to the power capable of burning without truly touching –  _there_  and  _not there_ , ethereal but as real as flesh and bone. “Ye and yer people, I mean.” He finished weakly, his cheeks throbbing with embarrassment.

“We do.” She snorted, amused by his unfamiliarity with her ways. “But, for me, barely an hour has passed since I arrived – time runs differently in our worlds. It is as if I just opened my eyes and yet many moons have come and gone. I won’t need sleep for many weeks here.”

“I see.” He hawked and gazed at the flames, furiously thinking of something clever to say. She hadn’t summoned a sudden hail or mist, so he could only hope she wasn’t entirely contrary to his presence. “I am sorry,  _Sorcha_  - that whatever is happening here has transpired into yer world, forcing ye to come here.”

“I don’t need your sympathy.” She snickered, looking away. “Nor do I want it,  _James_.”

“We aren’t that different, ye ken.” Jamie bit the inside of his cheek and gripped his fists – angry with himself for seeking her grace, when she clearly thought so little of him. “Ye and I. We were both forced into this position that neither of us sought or truly wanted.”

“What do you know of my loss?” Claire whispered, her voice sounding broken, the sharp edges barely shielded by her anger.

“I wasn’t the eldest of my father’s sons.” He replied haltingly, entwining his fingers to stop himself from shaking and from touching the dragonfly on his chest. “William, my elder brother, didn’t bear the mark – but he was a good man and a brave one. He would have been a good leader and a worthy successor. When I was born, almost to the end of my mother’s days of spring, everything changed. I always felt as if I had been nothing but a wrong choice from fate.”

“What happened to him – William?” She questioned, sounding almost surprised that she would care enough to ask.

“He died.” Jamie swallowed hard. “All of them -  _gone_.”

“And you think we are bound by it, you and I.” She tilted her head to look at him, puzzled.

“I think  _we_  know loneliness.” He whispered softly. “I think _ye know_  how it feels to have a heart that speaks a language no one else seems to understand – calling and screaming until it becomes so tired, it stops seeking to be heard altogether. How the burden bestowed upon us, despite us being unwilling, will rob the space of our longings and dreams.”

“The weight of  _Scotia_ ’s sword and  _Beira_ ’s inheritance – I hope you are deserving, James.” Claire smiled a little – a warm, and yet sad, gesture - and a little drizzle started to pour. “Raise Murtagh right away – we are surrounded.”


	6. VI

##  _**Scotia (VI)** _

Jamie grabbed his sword, previously resting on the frozen ground, the weight of the engraved hilt reassuring on his hand. Murtagh raised instantaneously, feeling his king’s urgency more than hearing his muffled call to arms.

Instinctively Jamie positioned himself beside Claire, his blue eyes swiftly sweeping the dark walls of the night around them, noticing through the corners of his eyes how a whirlwind of ice crystals was quickly forming behind her.

Their eyes were unable to unravel the approaching danger, but their ears prickled with the sounds of cracking branches and feet dragging, the anticipation building a steady rhythm in command of the drums of their hearts.

“There!” Murtagh hissed, when finally a willowy white hand became visible, stretching in their direction with a perplexing pointing finger, the long nail the color of parchment, broken and ragged.

“I’ll be damned.” Jamie uttered in amazement, slightly lowering his sword. “ _Weepers._ ” Several women had been revealed from the night’s embrace, their faces hidden by grey cloaks, so that only their aged limbs were clearly visible, wrinkled as dry plums.

“What?” Claire looked at him, puzzled. Her riotous curls danced on the wind surrounding her, clearly summoned in her defense. “Do you know these creatures?”

“I ken of their existence, although I’ve never laid eyes on a  _weeper_  before.” Jamie whispered, adjusting his body in order to partially shelter  _Sorcha_  from their gaze with his broad shoulders, a raging need to protect her overwhelming him. “I’ve read about them in old journals and heard some tales by the fire.”

“What  _are_  they?” Undoubtedly Claire’s  _not-quite-human_  nature recognized their strangeness. The wind around her calmed down, acquiring the subtlety of a morning’s breeze, yet not entirely dissipating.

“Women who lost their bairns and grieved themselves to muteness, calling to the skies until their voices escaped their bodies.” The redheaded man explained, watching fascinated as they grouped in front of them. “Death took pity on them and allowed them to walk across the veil, to visit and cradle their wee ones, so they aren’t fully alive nor dead, but trapped somewhere in between.”

“I see.” She whispered, a brief tremor coursing through her body, woken by her uncanny sensibility to suffering. “It’s almost unbearable to be in their presence.”

Jamie stepped ahead and carefully drove his sharp blade into the ground, in an explicit gesture of peace. “What do you want from us?” He asked softly, but the tone of command in his voice was unmistakable.

The first  _weeper_  to appear, her cloak seeming more frayed and older than any of the others, also stepped ahead of her sisters. Even without words, there was an aura of power surrounding her, marking her as the obvious leader. She swooshed until she was at arm’s length from Jamie, her disturbing finger gently tracing his chest, right where his dragonfly flew with open wings above his heart.

“Ah.” He startled, feeling again the intense burning sensation that had woken him on his coronation day, as if the insect was trying to carve its way out of his skin. The old woman sensed his growing panic and grabbed his wrist, keeping him in place. Displaying a surprising agility for her apparent age, her other hand swiftly captured Claire’s fingers.

“Let go of me!” The  _Queen of Frost_  protested, but her vehement complains were silenced when the  _weeper_ forced her open palm against his chest, covering the mark.

The contact was instantly soothing, as if her touch had been the expected rain to quell the fire within, balmy and tender. Jamie searched her eyes and saw in them the same reluctant surprise, the same sense of unspeakable connection. Somewhere at distance, as if brought on by the wind at her command, he learned the sound of her laughter and the shape of her delicate face when she slept and how her dreams ran wild next to his own. He wondered if he too had been revealed to her with such disarming openness, and if the sudden vulnerability in her eyes meant that she didn’t despise the knowledge.

“Will you help us, then?” Jamie found himself asking the elderly creature, when Claire’s hand finally abandon him – not without a pang of regret.  _Sorcha_  glared intently at him, as if he would crack open like an egg and reveal all the things concealed within to her utter alarm. “Will you guide us to  _An Lia Fàil?_ ”

The gathering of childless mothers remained still, as if silently discussing the merit of his request. Eventually they turned away towards an invisible path, beckoning them to follow with eerie fingers.

Murtagh raised a brow in question and Jamie nodded, encouraging him proceed, as he promptly recovered his sword. The  _weepers_  didn’t seem to leave a visible track behind them and moved with unexplained quickness, seemingly vanishing for a second only to reaper several feet away amongst the trees, forcing them to laboriously march in complete silence, in order not to lose sight of them.

Jamie found himself next to Claire as they walked, their hands almost brushing as they moved. He noticed how she sometimes looked at him under her lashes, an intense and confused gaze which made him entirely self-conscious.

“I thought yer hand would feel cold.” He finally told her sheepishly, when he couldn’t bear the silence anymore, enjoying a moment when Murtagh had hurried himself ahead in order to take a piss.

“It is.” Claire admitted, her brows furrowing as she examined her palm. “For some reason, it seems like you’re the only one who doesn’t feel it.”


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments! They are so appreciated! X

##  **_Scotia (VII)_ **

The sun timidly rose and went to sleep again while they incessantly marched. The  _weepers_ had abandoned the obligation of earthily necessities when they stepped across the veil for the first time; Claire herself seemed to be sustained solely by cold breeze and raindrops. Murtagh and Jamie ate what they could while walking, and when exhaustion threatened to fully kiss them on the lips, robbing them of breath, they pleaded for a couple of hours of sleep.

Eventually, culminating the shortest daylight span Jamie had seen in all his years, night found them while they reached the edge of a dark lake. Snow had gathered on the banks, as foam brought on by invisible waves. The surface was unperturbed – and yet it conveyed the sensation of a presence, asleep at best, but remaining eternally vigilant.

The  _weepers_ halted and, together, looked to the sky where the last quarter of the moon was visible. Simultaneously they vanished, silent even in departing, leaving them all alone.

“What now?” Jamie raised a brow, looking around for a way to advance.

“Someone is here.” Claire’s hand grabbed his wrist and he felt it again – the warmth of her, swirling just underneath her marble skin, the conversations their fingers were meant to pursue. The corners of her lips twitched, as if she was about to say something to him, but Murtagh audibly gasped when he spotted the night’s inhabitant.

A woman was kneeling by the water, her delicate hands occupied with the washing of clothing. She was fairly close, so much so they could perceive her otherworldly beauty at once - she appeared thoroughly unperturbed by their arrival. Her luxurious hair cascaded in brown rivulets and her eyes were coals that no fire could consume – the only strange and misplaced thing was the goat hooves blooming where slender human legs should have been.

“Here you are at last,  _Dragonfly Bearer_.” The woman greeted and smiled, without raising her eyes from her task, as if she had known all along the time of his arrival.

“Careful.” Claire hissed in protest, as Jamie slowly approached her. “She is not what she seems, James.”

“Were ye expecting me, lass?” Jamie asked, his eyes careful yet somewhat allured by her striking figure.

“Yes.” Her rich voice confirmed, as she scrubbed with vigor a particularly stubborn piece of white fabric. “I was expecting you and the silver doe. Tomorrow brings  _Nos Calan Gaeaf._ ”

“Do ye ken why we are here, then?” He pressed, glancing at Claire. She was paler than usual, her lips the only hint of the blood in her veins. “Where can we find  _An Lia Fàil?”_

“Oh yes.” The laundress nodded, content, but refrained from elaborating.

“What are ye washing?” Jamie questioned in conversational tone, feeling a numbness spreading on his face and lips, not even the hilt of  _Scotia_ ’s sword protecting him against a daunting premonition. “It seems a handful of work for a lonesome lass.”

“Your shroud,  _James Fraser_ , the first of thy name.” The creature exhibited the white piece and finally looked at him, an ugly grin cutting her beautiful features. “Do you want to know when you’ll wear it?”

Claire gasped behind him and Jamie stepped back, frightened.

“I can tell you many things,  _Dragonfly Bearer.”_  She finally folded the wet linen and raised, standing surprisingly elegant on her goat feet. “What was, what is and what will be. The date of your death, the taste of her kiss, what your brother told me when I dressed him to his grave. Who will betray you and love you, what song you will sing to your daughter and how to restore  _An Lia Fàil_. The price is not too steep for the one with the crown.”

“What do ye want in exchange for telling me my destiny?” Jamie asked, his hands shaking, exactly as Claire croaked an outraged “ _No_!”.

“Ah. You are willing to go where others would not.” She tilted her head in amusement, measuring him with renewed interest. “Once all is over I want half of your heart. Don’t fret young king – you may still live and thrive with the bit remaining.”

“Are you insane?” Claire roared, and the impact of the wind risen by her fury almost pushed the laundress to the ground. “You can’t give her part of your heart!”

“I’ll do whatever is required of me to protect my people.” Jamie said haltingly, turning to look at Claire with fierce blue eyes. “I’ll sell every corner of my soul if need be.”

“I believe that settles it.” The brown-haired woman trotted to him and offered him her naked hand. “Do I have your word, James?”

“Aye. Ye have my word.” He said in a hoarse voice. She grinned, delighted, and promptly sealed their bargain with a soft kiss on his lips – her breath tasted of decay, raw meat, mould and rust. He struggled not to vomit, as soon as their mouths parted. “Tell me what ye ken about  _An Lia Fàil.”_

“Just across the lake lies the  _Stone of Destiny_.” The laundress almost chanted, throwing Claire a rancorous look. “It’s missing an essential part, stored many winters ago inside your ancestor’s chest,  _Dragonfly Bearer_. The  _right hand_  might find a way to retrieve it and place it back where it was meant to be.”


	8. VIII

##  **_Scotia (VIII)_ **

“You are reckless and a fool.” Claire bickered, reluctantly following Jamie through the banks of the lake. Murtagh respectfully marched a few steps behind them, struggling not to slip on the melting snow and leaving them to their heated argument. “Hot-headed and naïve, you don’t have –“

“ _Enough, Sorcha_!” Jamie snarled aghast, halting his progression in order to face her. The  _Queen of Frost_  looked beautiful in her rage, almost in a sinister manner, her hair shining with harbingers of thunder brought on by her wicked temper. “Why do ye even care about my fate? I thought ye were well above the happenings in the lives of simple humans.” He inhaled deeply, gripping the hilt of  _Scotia_ ’s sword for reassurance. “Aren’t ye here just for your own purpose, then?”

Claire glared at him, pursing her lips in irritation. “Your kingdom relies on you. As a ruler myself, I understand the burden of such choices, but also the responsibility of making sensible decisions. If you are _dead,_  you won’t be of any help to them – or  _me_.”

“The  _laundress_  promised I could live with half a heart.” Jamie crossed his arms stubbornly, raising his chin. “And at least now we ken how to restore  _An Lia Fàil_ and stop the darkness from spreading.”

“You  _believed_ her?”  _Beira_ ’s niece laughed humorlessly. “You cannot trust a  _Bean nighe_  to keep her word. She is a herald of the dark days and will make a feast of our despair, with a side dish of your heart.”

“I have to believe in something, aye?” Jamie raised a brow and glanced at the northern margin of the lake, where the  _Stone of Destiny_  awaited them, looming still beyond their reach. “Why are ye so crossed? Are ye concerned for me?”

For a moment Jamie thought she would reproach him for daring to think such daring thoughts; a mordant rebut to neatly distance herself from him. But when their eyes met, he saw disarming vulnerability – an openness that reminded him of the sun timidly shining over the glen. “When the  _Weeper_ forced me to touch you,” She quietly admitted. “I had visions. About  _you_ ,  _Dragonfly Bearer._ ”

“What did ye see?” Jamie moved closer to her, allured by the softness in her eyes. Claire seemed wistful, for once the sense of her power overshadowed by brewing emotion.

“You -  _singing_.” She whispered, the corners of her beautifully-shaped mouth turning up on an amused smile. “You are truly a  _tuneless_  singer, James.” Claire hawked, as if dissolving the memory trapped inside her throat. “A thistle crown on an unmade bed. You laying by the hearth, sleeping – it looked like you were at home.” The Queen studied him intently. “It seems like a true waste to lose a man such as the one I saw in those fragments, regardless of the perils we face.”

Jamie swallowed hard, heat coming to his body from a place he couldn’t quite grasp. “I saw ye too, when ye touched me. It felt like  _I knew ye_ , then.”

The night was uncannily silent, none of the sounds of running water or animals hunting that usually filled a forest after darkness descended. In that eerie quietness, broken only by Murtagh’s impatient movements and the mist of their breaths, Jamie imagined he could hear her heart beating and it sounded just the same as his.

“I must tell ye something, Claire.” Jamie whispered. “Maisri  _Wise-Eyes_ , the Seer of my kingdom, warned me of your arrival, as I’ve told ye before. But she also told me other words, that I couldna fathom at the time – but now, well…” He brushed the back of his neck, hesitant and embarrassed. “I think it might be  _yours_  the hand that is able to retrieve the part of  _An Lia Fàil_ that is hidden inside my chest - for I am now sure that the mark signals its concealment. It must have been passed on, generation after generation, ever since my ancestor who was Beira’s lover.”

“What did the Seer tell you?” Claire tilted her head to examine him, moving astonishingly like the doe which she morphed into. The cascade of her hair billowed with the soft breeze around her,  _coming from her_.

“That the success of my quest rested on my ability to whisper into yer heart.” Jamie looked defiantly at her, the sound of his blood thrumming in his ears. “If I might whisper into yers, maybe ye can reach into mine.”

For once he could see the woman in her, dancing with surprise in her honey-colored eyes, without the veil of the distant queen. A woman who yearned for love and home, whose dreams had been crushed by the weight of an untimely crown. Everything about her was beautiful in that moment, from the slight crease of doubt on her forehead, to the smooth skin of her neck begging to be kissed, to the uncertainty of the weather surrounding her.  _Powerful. Desirable_.

“I can’t stay  _here_.” She whispered, and her voice sounded unhinged –  _broken with regret._ “You know that I have to go back, James – that I belong somewhere  _else_.”

Her fingers initiated a movement towards him, her hand seeking the hilt of his sword where his own fingers rested, when Murtagh’s urgent voice boomed.

“I hate to interrupt the two _lovebirds_ , but  _it’s coming_.” His grumpy lilt trembled with terror, as he slowly walked backwards in their direction. From the woods surrounding the lake, a dense absence of light, a wall made of darkness, was rapidly flowing. The previous silence had been eclipsed, replaced with the nightmarish sound of teeth clasping together, interspersed with hungry howls and satisfied hisses from unseen mouths. The night came with _fangs_  to prey on them, ravenous for the warm blood in their veins - sweet with daydreams and salty with longing.

“We have to go –  _now_!” Jamie grunted, gritting his teeth, his digits closing around Claire’s forearm to keep her close to him. “We must reach the stone before it’s too late.”

“Will you trust me with your heart?” Claire’s face was pale while they hurried to the path leading to  _An Lia Fàil_ , but she seemed resolute. Her eyes spoke of a profound fear Jamie wished to ignore.

“I think I  _already have_.” The young king answered softly, as they started to run to escape the night of  _Nos Calan Gaeaf_.

 

 


End file.
